


the cleansing baptism of denial

by OAbsalom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bible Quotes, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Discord: O Lord Heal This Server, Dom/sub, He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), No beta we fall like Crowley, Other, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, reverse praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OAbsalom/pseuds/OAbsalom
Summary: “Tell me I’m good.” Perfectly-weighted tone. Just enough begging, just enough confidence in attainment.“Mmm…” The angel traced the cleft of Crowley’s pussy, wet and wanting. “I’m not going to tell you you’re good, Crowley.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 163
Collections: O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Written for the O Lord Heal This (Discord) Server Christmas Exchange 2019_
> 
> "Whenever a new spiritual idea is introduced into the mind, some negative belief is disturbed. It resists. With this resistance comes more or less commotion in the consciousness... This can be greatly modified or eliminated by putting the mind in divine order through denial. If the cleansing baptism of denial does not precede the Holy Spirit's descent, there is conflict in the consciousness - the old error thoughts contend for their place, refuse to go out, and a veritable war is the result." - Charles Fillmore

Soft, warm fingers moved slowly down Crowley’s side - up and down, up and down as they traced the crests and valleys of his ribs – to his navel before switching palmwise to rub back up his chest. The sensation was repetitive and the only thing that existed. Cold breath whorled through the hollows of his head as the brushes of his lover’s hand caressed his body. It was almost unbearable to be touched like this.

What is Want? Desire, adoration? Love? Peculiar, so peculiar that they could at once exist and be utterly impossible. He can give these. Wants to give them, is full to bursting with them. Every touch of his lips to Aziraphale’s is etched with his undying veneration. It’s unthinkable, though, that the angel’s touches might be laden with the same. It’s not the same, not for Crowley. 

**_I am rubber, you are glue._ **

But God, he wants to believe. 

**_Let me have it. I’ve worked for it, let me have it._ **

Beautiful fingernails scraped across his chest, compelling him to look into his captor’s eyes. “You need something, don’t you, Crowley?”

**_Tell me I’m worthy. Valuable. Satisfying._ **

His arms were cramping, sleeping prickly behind his back. Late afternoon sun, burnt orange through the thick air of the city, streamed in past sheer curtains, filling the room with fiery light. He didn’t dare to shift, knowing the cascade of excruciating pain that would surge down his arms, so long disregarded. Only a nod, looking directly into light green wilderness.

“What do you need?” He ran his hand up Crowley’s thigh, gripping the meat of it where it met his pelvis. The closeness to his straining arousal elicited a desperate moan.

“T—"

Patient eyes watched him struggle, gave no fragment of mercy. No sign of benevolence. A thumb stroked the supple lips it found above his thigh, and Crowley pressed toward it. An odd direction to take this; typically didn’t have to beg so soon. He could play this game, though, and he would.

“Tell me I’m good.” Perfectly-weighted tone. Just enough begging, just enough confidence in attainment.

“Mmm…” The angel traced the cleft of Crowley’s pussy, wet and wanting. “I’m not going to tell you you’re good, Crowley.”

**_What?_ **

A pin stuck in his chest, into the dryrot that wasn’t managing to pump blood through his arms. His brow furrowed, and he looked wounded.

**_You bastard. You've said it for so long. Now I need it._ **

His angel tutted with mock indignation at Crowley's shock. “You act like I don’t know what’s best for you. Don’t you _want_ what I think is best for you?”

**_Ah, he’s got a plan. I can work with a plan. Let’s do this._ **

The stricken demon nodded eagerly. The corners of Aziraphale’s lips raised in time with his eyebrows, his signature considerate smile just barely failing to mask something insidious.

“You’re going to tell **_me_ ** instead.” He began to rub Crowley’s clit with his thumb, beaming brightly.

Shudders rattled involuntarily from his spine at the touch, but clefts carved themselves deeper into his forehead.

**_Don’t be a bastard, angel. This isn’t how the script goes._ **

“I need to know what you are, Crowley. Tell me.”

**_Aziraphale?_ **

“I’m good.” He said, small and quiet.

“Mm. Sounds like you don’t believe that,” Aziraphale said skeptically. His mouth fell open in consideration, tongue exploring his back teeth idly, and two fingers slid into the demon beneath his hands. Crowley strained toward the intrusion, but the fingers remained still. “Try again, then?”

**_I need it, please just let me have it. This is your job, not mine._**

“I’m—I’m good.” Fingers slicked out and in once in appreciation, and the feeling was different than it had ever been before. An odd flame licked deep within him that somehow made him both frigid and burning in all the places it touched.

“Ah!” The angel responded pleasantly. He may as well have just had the lovely surprise of meeting a dear friend at the market. “Are you?”

Crowley bit his lip and nodded, rewarded again with a stroke of penetration. The sensation rolled from his pussy to his belly to meld with the nod that had slipped down his spine, a blister sitting there confused and loud and smug.

“Well, let’s hear it once more, shall we? For good measure, there’s a chap.”

**_Alright, what the hell, Angel? You asked. I said it. How many times do you need it so that we can get on with it, of course I’m fucking g-…_ **

A breath. He searched the face that focused on him so intensely. _This_ is what Aziraphale wants. **_Oh God. It’s what I want, too._** The mocking bubble in his stomach popped, spreading coolly through his abdomen, bathing his organs in ache and relief. He could be what they want.

“I’m _good_.”

He was rewarded with a deep breath and sigh. Two fingers withdrew from his warmth, and three replaced them, falling into a rhythm.

“Yes, yes of course. That’s right,” A shred of information Aziraphale had once known but let slip his mind. “That _is_ what you are, isn’t it? Go on, then. Keep it up.”

Crowley moaned, pressure curling itself forward toward his mound, bobbing up and down with the motion. A refrain of how very good he was fell from his own lips. The notes of it floated in the air. The thought sank in deep, swirling and mixing in his mind with the satisfaction of being fucked, bringing a fresh, disorienting intensity to his pleasure.

**_Yes. I can be that. I can._ **

“Yes. Yessss. I’m good. Ssso, so good.”

The angel rubbed his other hand up Crowley’s hip to caress his waist. The feeling was somehow odd and foreign with this new thought. Perception of touch had never before imbued his body with the assurance it was there _because_ of him, not in spite of. 

“Now. Tell me you’re worthy, Crowley.”

“I’m g—I’m.. Ngh.” Instantly that assurance dissolved, and he winced slightly away from the soft touch on his side.

Aziraphale stilled his thrusts, the role of sensation taken over by a thumb rubbing circles into the skin around his clit. Thoughtful, pursed lips and narrowed eyes provoked an irritated growl from the demon.

**_You idiot, I had it! What was that? It was working. What the hell is this even getting you? Yeah, sure, worthy, whatever you want. Can we just get back to it?_ **

“Aren’t you worthy, Crowley?” Stiff fingers smoothed the sands of the demon’s taut belly.

White specks of dust floated through the quickly-reddening haze spilling in through the windows. Medium woods and piles of books and well-loved spaces contrasted with the man spread open on the aged quilt, filled with exposed, sharp edges. Crowley ran his hands over them, exploring their shapes, their peaks and points. Painless as they passed, but how his palms poured blood. It crashed down the mirror edges, splashed on his shoes, clashed with the deadened feeling. Pores in tissues long-lifeless filled with scarlet, gasping for breath with a start.

Tears surged in his eyes, blurring the room’s clear lines, leaving the world in rouge. He shook his head hard.

“ ‘m not.” The admission scarcely a whisper. The sides of his neck burned. Anger or frustration or embarrassment or all three balled up in heat behind his jaw. He arched his back to relieve some pressure from his arms, neglected and stinging. Aziraphale’s hands idled in their places, hovering just above his skin. Defiant eyes watched the wall under strained eyebrows for a beat. Two beats. Three. He spared a glance upward, directly into a deadpan stare.

“I’m _pretty_ sure that’s not what I asked you to tell me.”


	2. Chapter 2

"Not," the T popped off the angelic tongue, "...worthy." Aziraphale withdrew his fingers and thoughtfully wiped them one by one on a hand towel. He tasted his own tongue for a moment. Deliberated.

“Do you want to be?”

An urgent sound left Crowley’s throat even before Aziraphale finished the sentence, and he nodded hard, tears trailing down his cheeks.

Aziraphale bit the corner of his bottom lip, rolling his eyes dramatically toward the demon's, and dipped down to surround one of Crowley's nipples with his lips. Hushed moans stumbled from Crowley's mouth with each whisper of his tongue. The blond put his arms around his partner, hoisted him up from the bed, and began to unwrap the rope around his forearms.

The room before him had changed: reds replaced with dark purples dusted with the soft silver of streetlights. Everything was still and hushed. Shadows fell heavy against the books, an odd mix of angles and shapes cast by the sundry editions. The soft quilt gleamed bright and smooth, a rolling field of virgin snow marred only where it bore Crowley's body. Silently, his chest rose and fell against Aziraphale's. Muted, the rope fell to the bed. Aziraphale gingerly spread weary arms to their rightful positions, supporting them with gentle grasp. 

Undulating auroras of pinks and blues erupted behind Crowley's eyelids. Molten copper poured down his arms in exquisite agony, and a distressed bellow gained substance in the abyssal places of his ribs and resonated through the room. Senselessness draped across the rest of his existence, and the only thing left to him was the anguish exploding down his arms. Vaguely, he felt Aziraphale lay him back down on the bed and kiss the short ribs beneath his collarbones. Slowly, slowly, the pain no longer dominated his life, the world now extant once more. The kisses worked their way up his neck, past his jaw, onto his mouth. They were tender and slow, recording hallowed love onto his profane lips. The sentiment seized high in his throat. Tighter. Tighter. Tighter still, until he couldn't breathe from the acrid grip. 

No option remained but concession. He forced the air from his lungs. His still-sleeping arms dashed upward to grasp the angel's face in both hands, reflecting the love back to its source, pouring it back into the angel. Breathless, his fingers cut trails across the soft face (no harsh angles like his own, nothing to cut his hands), back into cool platinum hair (no scorching flame, nothing to burn his fingertips). 

_**This is what I'm good at. This is what I can do. I'm so good at loving, not at being loved. Let me love you.** _

****Crowley grew more impassioned in his kisses, digging them deeply into Aziraphale's mouth. He moaned into the angel's skin, gripping and grasping at face, hair, back, shoulders. Every millimetre of his own skin he could press to Aziraphale's was in contact, warming between them where the cool had settled from lying naked so long. He mounted his partner's thigh, grinding down against him.

_**Yes, this is kind of love I can have. The kind that's only here for you.** _

Aziraphale tore away to bite kisses into Crowley's neck. Breathing into them, he demanded, "Tell me again what you are, Crowley."

" _Gooooood,_ " came the long, breathy whisper. Crowley ground the word into Aziraphale's thigh, wet and slick. He let the idea mix into the pressure on his clit, and it lit up lights in his stomach. "I'm good, Angel. So good." 

In the relief of his passion, he didn't register Aziraphale laying him back down on the bed, lifting his arms above his head. It was only when the angel broke their contact to tie the them firmly to the headboard that Crowley felt the dynamic shift. 

"Ah yes, _good_. Good demons do what their angels want them to, don't they?"

_**Yes we do.** _

Crowley nodded, inspecting the face that watched him. Calm, unaffected features masked whatever intentions lurked in his head. No wrinkle of concern nor concentration emerged. No sign of hope nor mercy seeped through.

Aziraphale climbed atop him, teasing his cockhead between Crowley's lips, slicking it up. Crowley keened toward his erection.

"What will it take for you to be worthy, Crowley?" He pumped forward, fucking deeply into the bound demon. After all these hours of teasing, the sensation was nearly unbearable. 

"Aagh," he gasped, rocking forward to press him in as far as he could take him. The penetration filled his mind, stopped his thoughts. Silenced the little protests chanting in the forefront of his mind. "Be lovable," he declared breathlessly. Thoughtlessly. Recklessly allowing the concept life. It stared at him. Laughed at him. Pointed at his nakedness, and mocked his vulnerability.

Aziraphale rolled his hips above him, stopping to sit up a bit, still sheathed tightly. He ran his palms over Crowley's chest.

"Well, I love you, we know that. So who _doesn't_ love you?" He leaned back down to kiss the circles his palms had rubbed into the demon, slowly thrust in and out of him. His lips traveled up to brush Crowley's, laying whispers rather than kisses.

_**God.** _

Crowley groaned. The angel's thick cock forced him apart so slowly, brushing the ridges inside him, catching just slightly with each withdrawal.

" _Me,_ " he whispered against Aziraphale's mouth. The word left his throat, and his pussy grew warmer, a soft buzzing of pleasure radiating from somewhere behind his pelvic bone. 

"What's not to love, my dear?" He asked, tracing light fingertips up the demon's bound arms. How strange was this brand new stroking he'd felt hundreds of times before. Somehow it didn't feel as though Aziraphale's fingertips were brushing Crowley's skin, but rather... Crowley's skin was being brushed by Aziraphale's fingertips. The distinction was all semantics, but cosmically it whirled deep within Crowley, now the subject of this sexual sentence.

"Dunno," Crowley responded, quietly as he dared. "Something bad," he whispered. "Irredeemable. Bad enough it didn't deserve mercy."

"But not bad, yes? Didn't you just say you were..." the thought trailed off into the night. Waiting to get picked up like a railcar on a track.

"Good," Crowley whispered, then exclaimed as Aziraphale began to lunge forcefully into him. 

_**Yes, I'm good. He's fucking me like this because I'm** _ **good _._**

The thought crescendoed in his body, and his feet curled inward. The pressure that built all around the angel's plunging erection was too much. He was going to discorporate. There was no other alternative, there was- 

Aziraphale stilled his hips and brushed his thumbs rhythmically over Crowley's nipples. 

" _WHY_ ," Crowley wailed.

"Because I'm not done yet."

He slipped out of the demon and brought his mouth down to lap at his pussy, pausing here and there to pose questions. The redhead squirmed at the pinpoint pleasure and threw a leg up over Aziraphale's shoulder. Tried to chase the bounding orgasm that hadn't yet fully escaped him.

"You didn't receive mercy, no. Does that mean you're irredeemable? You need Her forgiveness?"

Crowley wiggled against the angel's hot tongue several moments, twisting to catch it in the places that made his whole body hum. He decided not to answer. 

"Is Hers the forgiveness you need to be worthy, Crowley?"

He felt the tears welling up in his eyes again. There were no places that made his body hum now, only tickling slipperiness. He twisted to shift Aziraphale away, and the angel responded by wiping his mouth on the side of his hand, returning to his place atop him, trailing kisses up his sharp cheekbones, onto his ears. 

"You're not answering me, _demon,_ " He hissed into an ear and pressed back on the tied-tight arms, though his voice was a little softer than it might have been. "Who needs to forgive you to make you worthy?"

Crowley's lips came together and parted, but no sound arose from them. Aziraphale smiled anyway and caressed his copper locks, nodding brightly. Crowley cleared his throat, but the sound emerged frayed nonetheless. 

"Me." 

"Then, my dear..." He applied a slicked hand to oil his cock then transferred it to the demon's arse, pressing a finger inside to spread the lubrication. "Oh, my dear... You're just going have to tell me you're forgiven until you mean it."

He pressed his cock into Crowley's ass, ripping a moan from the demon. He drew completely out and thrust in again. 

_**Oh Jesus, Satan, fuck. I can't.** _

"Say it."

" _Forgiven,_ " the demon hissed between his teeth.

He began fucking him in earnest, then, holding Crowley's knees in his palms. Every few moments, he would call and Crowley would answer, but never to his satisfaction. So, he fucked him harder. And yet the heartfelt response never came.

"You aren't doing what I asked," he scolded. "But you will."

He slipped three fingers into Crowley's pussy, curling them forward, fucking them into him in time with his cock. Crowley's world began to disintegrate. The beams in the ceiling, only dark blue suggestions if anything, began to fade into ether. He no longer felt the rope round his wrists, the soft quilt under his back, the chill on his chest. His whole world was the hand and cock beating into him. Filling him. Stretching him. 

He was utterly gone to other places. Concepts distant in time and space. Eras that hadn't been dreamed of in staggering lifetimes. The accusation floated in the blackness around him: _Unworthy. Unlovable. Unforgivable._

_**God, but wouldn't it feel amazing to deserve that?** _

The pieces of the era fell together around him. Something arid, dark dirt paths. Nothing Latin yet, nothing hidden from the people. It hadn't been his, had never been his, but he remembered the words. Could make it his. He grasped at the inkmarks on the poet's scroll, stringing them together in his mind's eye. Vaguely, that filling, stretching sensation continued in the back of his mind, his orgasm rising steadily in his cunt. He dashed the words out on parchment and read them back to himself for approval. Yes, he'd taken them for himself, they were his. He deserved them as well as anyone, these words. He pulled his shawl down from his hair, casting it to the dryness of the dirt path, freeing the stale air from around his ears, and read aloud again.

_** I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you. ** _

His eyes focused with a jolt, meeting Aziraphale's. The pressure inside him was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. It resonated throughout his body. Made his limbs burn. Made his mouth sting and water.  The angel smiled wide and pressed his palm down firmly on Crowley's pelvis. 

"Say it." 

"I'm _worthy_ ," Crowley cried as he came, forceful bucking prevented by the angel's weight. He shouted so loudly he startled himself, the oppressive pleasure utterly intolerable. He rode the powerful orgasm out against the appendages filling him and ended oversensitive and exhausted.   


Aziraphale smiled sweetly and untied his lover from the bed. Crowley stared up at the ceiling, dark blue suggestions returned once more, turning his newfound value over in his head.

"You're a bastard." He said, not looking toward the angel.

"Just enough" he beamed. "But at least now you'll admit that you're nice."

Crowley winced.

_** Oi, can you give me half a moment to lean into this? ** _

"I never said nice, Angel."

Aziraphale's expression stoned, and he sighed. "No. Not yet, you haven't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished it! Thanks for coming along for the ride.


End file.
